Why Passing into the Undying Lands was a Bad Idea
by Ithilvalan
Summary: Frodo gets kicked out of the Undying Lands... Return of Morgoth
1. Sam arrives

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Note from author

This is my first ever LOTR fanfic. Please review and tell me pros and cons. (Hopefully more pros than cons) Before I let you continue, HEY YOU! Don't think you can ignore this! I'm the author, you know. Disclaimer: I own the plot. I don't care if there are other "sequels" that other people made for The Lord of The Rings. I made this up all by my lonesome. I even have my own distinct, un-Tolkienish writing style. (Rather, say mine takes a more humorous personality) Fine, skip this if you will. But I will not have any suing, capiche? Continuing on.

If you are reading this, I will assume that you have read The Lord Of The Rings by J. R. R. Tolkien. However, if you have not, I suggest you ought to at least become familiar with some of the people, places, and things. In other words, go read the books. Or at least see the movies. The publisher split the book into three separate ones, The Fellowship of the Ring, The Two Towers, and The Return of The King. I myself enjoyed the books and the movies that have come out so far. I decided to write this story for several reasons. I always wondered if Sam came to the Undying Lands. I also wondered whether anything happens after they head out west. The history or a prequel I need not write, since the appendixes cover that information, though some of it relates to The Silmarillion. But for an experiment, I decided to write something that is sort of a sequel to The Lord of The Rings. Although I am not exactly sure this is what J. R. R. Tolkien would have wanted (as I added a few of my own touches, which makes it less boring than The Lord of The Rings.) Not that it was horrible or anything, it's just a little bit tedious in the beginning. Mind, just a _teeny-weeny_ bit. (VERY teeny)

Why Passing Into the Undying Lands was a bad idea

An evil sorcerer is trying to kill me. I also discover he wants to perform a diabolical takeover. The Elves determine that I'm a menace to peace and debate to kick me out. My name is Frodo Baggins. My uncle is the notorious Bilbo Baggins, the one who started the mess (despite what Gandalf or Mithrander claims) They come to the conclusion that the Ring was remade My gardener keeps begging to be allowed to visit. The Elves get cranky and grant him permission. He immediately fusses over me. 

10. Undying is a SERIOUS exaggeration. (First hand experience.)

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Introduction (or more like pre events)

The Return of the King (the last part) ends when at last Sauron is defeated and the Shire is scoured from Saruman germs. (GASP! Maybe you haven't read the books yet! Eeek! What have I done?!) Oh well, too bad, so I ruined the books for you. Maybe you'll see the movies) As for you who _have_ read The Lord of The Rings know, Arwen Undomiel or the Evenstar gave her immortality to a certain Frodo Baggins and his Uncle Bilbo. In her stead the two Bagginses headed with the Shipwright Cirdan and the rest of the Elves out west to The Undying Lands. From there, the rest is history.

October 6, 1422

Well here I am, Frodo Baggins of the Shire, _the_ Ring Bearer with nine fingers because Gollum (Smeagol) bit off the middle one. And let me tell you, the Undying Lands aren't as great as they all make it out to be. Before you all exclaim, "Omigod, it's Mister Baggins! I want his autograph!" I need to tell you that I'm not really all that. Sure, I brought the one Ring to Mordor, but really, my gardener Sam took over when I got captured. And it was Gol- sorry, Smeagol, who destroyed the ring, though it took his own life.

As some of you think, Sam is a wimp, but I like him. Seriously. He's just easier to take in smaller doses. After all, he _did_ care for me when I was sick. Anyway, as soon as the Elves let him. He whisked Rose, Elanor, himself and company out west. "Mr. Frodo, sir, let your Sam take care of you," he cried, nearly knocking me over. For crying out loud! Jeez, you can understand my predicament. And as I shoved him off, saying "Oh, come on Sam, please, I'm fine, my shoulder just hurts.

"Oh, Mister Frodo, it's October 6, just like that fateful day at Weathertop four years ago." Sam started fussing over my arm.

Wrenching my arm from his grasp, I said, "For the final time, Sam, I AM FINE!" I started to holler, blasting out a couple eardrums.

"Is this how you treat old friends?" a familiar voice bellowed.

"_G-G-G-Gandalf_?!?" I was shocked. "Gimli, Legolas, Merry, Pippin, Arwen, Str- I mean Aragorn????? What are you doing here?"

"Giving you moral support, of course, old chap. You can just wonder how Legolas managed to convince old Elrond to let me come here. Galadriel helped, of course." Gimli replied, pretending to maintain his dwarf reputation by being as gruff as possible. Pippin clapped my shoulder.

"Blimey, Frodo. I'd expect you to know, as YOU **are** the subject of the Council's meeting." Pippin said, clearly shocked that I was baffled.

"Council?" I was utterly flummoxed. "What are you hinting at?'

"Frodo, my dear lad," Bilbo said, waking up from his slumber, "the elves are holding a council for your sake. There has been some question about who was aiding Sauron's attacks. Seems like a sorcerer called Morgoth, and he seems to be rebuilding his world of shadow. Ah, Dunedan, there you are. I need you to help me with this poem."

I gulped, ignoring the comment to Aragorn. "So what are we waiting for?" I asked with a false sense of bravado. "No worry, I mean, it won't affect us."

"On the contrary, Frodo it will affect us very much." Gandalf heaved a sigh.

"Say what?"

"You will find out at the meeting."


	2. The woes of Mr Frodo

October 7, 1422

Chapter 2

Harrumph, typical Gandalf. Waiting until the last moment, keeping me dangled in suspense. Still, I wonder what is the problem. I have never seen him so sombre, even when Sauron sent his whole army after him at Barad-dur. Jeez, the old wizard didn't even flinch at the sight of my bloody mail and pack. He was probably close when he fought the Balrog at Moria, though. I wouldn't be sombre. I'd be running away as fast as my hobbit feet can carry me shrieking for help. Of course, I was worried about Gandalf, so I didn't run away. Of all the nerve, giving us all such a tremendous fright. You can imagine how relieved I was when I found out he was alive. Although that event happened after the tragic loss of my finger, I was nonetheless very pleased of the effect. The ring gone, Gandalf here, Smeagol gone, Sauron gone, it seemed like a "happily ever after" story.

Naturally, life is not like that. It refuses to let you sit down and relax. It forces you to get up out of your cozy bed and go somewhere and do something worthwhile. It took me a while to discover my worth, even when the whole ring mess came to me. Sigh, sometimes I wish I was just normal Frodo Baggins and not some stupid Ringbearer whose finger got bitten off. Quite frankly, it's a nuisance. I can't write my stories any more, except with my left hand (so you'll pardon my print). Now I'm a hero just because I'm kind of ambidextrous and also the destroyer of the ring of power.

I mean, honestly, you wouldn't like having fans crowd around your nice and roomy Bag End asking for autographs. I like my nice round hobbit hole un-polluted by adoring fans (mainly made up of eager little hobbit children with their disapproving parents looking on from a safe distance.) But how could you decline a cute little hobbit looking up at you with wistful eyes? Nobody's that heartless. Except for a few people, perhaps…

Anyway, back to the current time. I trudged along the winding staircase that led to the house of Elrond Half-Elven, the last of the Eldar. I could use the rest before the meeting tomorrow. (I think, not including Galadriel, Celeborn, and Cirdan,) I suppose it's a good thing I am recording the rest of The Red Book, because elves, even the Eldar never mention hobbits, and they seldom mention Men either. Elves don't cite even the hobbits' very few adventures (i.e. The Desolation of Smaug). I have my audacious side, after all I _AM_ part Took and Brandybuck, the more adventurous part of the hobbits. Bagginses were always well to do. Well, I presume Uncle Bilbo and I are a disgrace to hobbits. I have heard the whispers "Mr. Frodo was always such a nice lad,"

"Yes, at least until he went back to that horrible Buckland where folk are so queer and outlandish,"

"WELL hic IF THAT IS hic QUEERNESS, hic WE COULD hic DO hic WITH A BIT hic MORE OF hic IT!!!!!!!!!! MR. hic FRODO AND hic HIS UNCLE ARE hic VERY NICE GENTLE hic HOBBITS." As usual, the Gaffer bellowed on the top of his lungs at the Green Dragon. Being a bit more deaf, the Gaffer spent more and more time at the Dragon in Bywater. There he spent most of his time yelling at well to do hobbits who were constantly whispering about how odd the Bagginses and Tooks and Cottons and Brandybucks were and how pleasant it would have been if Mr. Bilbo stayed out of the wizards businesses. Oh well, I can't believe how much I miss the Green Dragon. Or Bag End. Sigh, off to bed now.

A/N- Thank you all!!!! I'm sorry the chapters are so short. To tide yourself by, go to fictionpress and read my other stories. My username is the same.


	3. The Council Begins

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October 8, 1422

Chapter 3

Just woke up from a feather bed at Elrond's paradise. Time to hobble my old hobbit bones downstairs. I still can't believe I'm 54. Years do pass by quickly. Though Uncle Bilbo is 132, so I can't talk. Besides, it's the _Undying Lands. _Every hobbit child in the Shire could tell what that means. Even the most uneducated ones. Oh, my, can't stop to chat. I need to get to the meeting. "WAIT FOR ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

"As you all know why I have gathered you here today, I will tell you ere that no time will be wasted on petty comments." Elrond's opening speech awoke all the sleepyheads in the crowd. "I will not hesitate with the worry of offending the visitors. As you know, Messrs. Frodo and Bilbo Baggins have been causing a bit of a stir within the used to be all Elven Undying Lands. There has been some question whether the Bagginses really should have taken the place of-"

"Really, Father. You know the whole idea was mine." Arwen Evenstar stood up. "There is no problem with Frodo and Bilbo here. I don't see what the big fuss is about. There hasn't been any trouble."

"Indeed, Father. You worry about us too much," Soft-spoken Elladan added.

"So far, but Elrond, you must admit, the children have a point," Galadriel murmured in her gravelly tones. "I think you may be over worrying again."

"So far, you say, mother," Elrond replied, "yet does that mean you have foreseen something?"

"Nay, my lord. I merely was stating that it is possible that the return of the Elves have cost the land a bit of trouble."

"What my lady says does make sense, Elrond." Celeborn jumped in. "Though the real problem is with the sorcerer, Morgoth. Although he already had his share of attempting Armageddon, he blew it, the Eldar and the Valar got rid of him, and good riddance to bad rubbish, I say. We head back to Middle Earth and attempt to stop him from rebuilding Mordor. And I do believe he is starting to rebreed Orcs."

Elrohir strangled a cry; "At all costs we must avoid endangering the race of Elves. Father, you do remember what happened to mother in the chambers of Sauron." He looked at Elladan who nodded, never forgetting their mother's torment in the dungeons of Sauron.

"I remember all too well, my son. But now, in the Fourth Age all men have already forgotten about the Eldar. Gildor, my most trusted councilor, of where do you place your opinion?"

"My lord, I do believe that at all costs we must prevent that folly. Yet I understand that the races of the Fourth Age are endangered. They need all their kin." Gildor replied, gravely.

"Alas, my father. King Elessar (Elfstone, Aragorn, and Estel more names for the king) and I have come to beg for thy aid. The Land of Shadows is being rebuilt by unseemly hands. Our forces in Gondor and of Minas Tirith, Minas Arnor and Minas Ithilien aren't that strong." Arwen came forth and spoke, "Prince Faramir Ithilien and Eowyn and Eomer of Rohan have given us the power of the Rohirrim and that of Minas Ithilien, but we need another stronghold."

"Nay, daughter. Did I not say that the Fourth Age is no longer of the Elves? The fate of men is no longer upon us." Elrond replied somberly. "Though I believe some of the Eldar beg to differ," he said, casting an obvious glance at Galadriel and Celeborn.

"Alas, son. You know me too well. Though we elves are not supposed to meddle in other's affairs, are we not of the same distant kindred?"

"The Lady speaks the truth." Gandalf added, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "I do believe Frodo and Bilbo ought to have some say in this matter, however."

"Thank you, Gandalf. As I am the Ringbearer I have gone over the possibilities of the ring being remade. Unless Morgoth was the original maker of the Ring, that is, if he is the one who gave Sauron power, then he can indeed make another One Ring of Power. It shall seem as it is not possible to resurrect the original ring, save if the myths and legends were false."

"The myths are certainly not false," Elrond boomed, "I myself was their at the Last Alliance. If Isildur had heeded my word, the Ring would have immediately have been destroyed, never to be seen again. The meeting shall concede now. You are all dismissed except Estel. Son, I have to discuss something with you. You all go have a good night's sleep. The meeting shall continue tomorrow."

"Oh, that's nice. So, where are we now?" Bilbo awoke with a start.

**October 9, 1422**

Chapter 4

Ah, must get up. I should hope the meeting might end today, as I am tired of all this debating. And why are the elves shooting sad glances in my direction? What have I done?

"Good morning. I hope you all slept well?" Elrond inquired. "Now to continue with our discussion, I do believe it was you, Frodo who left off?"

"Yes, indeed it was. As I was saying, I do not believe that the ring could be resurrected. Morgoth is perfectly excused to create another one, however. I do assume that our real problems lie in Middle Earth and I think we should send a delegation to aid the men-"

"AHEM-" Arwen cleared her throat.

"-and women of Gondor," Frodo continued.

"Pippin?" Aragorn asked, "will you return back to Gondor? You know I have not released you from service quite yet."  
"Yes, we could use you and also Meriadoc, as Lady Eowyn especially asked for," Arwen chimed in, "you do know you're still the King's esquire."

"Very well, I shall depart with you." Pippin and Merry both agreed.

"Here, now, my lads. I demand a right to speak." Bilbo cleared his throat. "As you all know it was I who came across the Ring more than half a century ago. Alas, I am losing my vigor. But I know what you all are thinking. What's an old hobbit like Mr. Bilbo being involved with the whole business. Well I'll tell you. My bones have grown old, and I am weary. But I should like to be able to see Middle Earth before I get tired of the Undying Lands." Bilbo rambled, his head drooping.

"Thank you, Bilbo, now as I was saying-"

"Oh, no offence intended, Elrond old chap. It's just that- zzzzz " Bilbo added hastily, and drifted back to slumber.

"Ah, he is old. Anyway, most of us do agree that a delegation to Middle Earth is necessary. And once again, I need volunteers."

"Alas, Elrond. I must return to the seas, as Galadriel proved right. Laurelindornan and Mirkwood may be fine to other elves, but the cry of the gull has changed my heart. I must return to the seas." Legolas sighed.

"And I too must return to Durin, and he is still King Under the Mountain. I promised to see if Moria could be re-inhabited."

"Gandalf?" I turned my head to see his response.

"I'm sorry, Frodo, my dear lad. The Istari are no longer part of the world of Men."

"Aragorn?" I looked at him pleadingly.

"Well, I would, but is Queen Evenstar not pledged to watch over her people."

"Nonsense. I am of course joining the delegation. You are too, my liege."

"Hey, we'll go too, or at least when the war starts." The two youngest members, yours truly, Merry and Pippin didn't hesitate to chime in.

"Do not forget Celeborn, Haldir and I. And quite possibly Gildor, if you can spare him." Galadriel looked up.

"Yes, my lord. I have prevented the Fellowship's folly in Lorien, and mayhap I may do it again." Haldir added solemnly.

(Ok, if you saw the movie The Two Towers, you will note that Haldir was slain by that huge orc thingy. Also, in The Fellowship of the Ring (the movie,) he went to Aragorn's aid. And they don't even mention that Galadriel sent the news. Humph. In the book, however, Haldir never went to Aragorn's aid, the Dunedain, (the last of the Numoreans) Aragorn's real kin, did. However, Glorfindel (he's not mentioned here, I think) came to Frodo's aid, not Arwen. The movie messed it up. Sorry, I'm getting carried away. Anyway, in my story, Haldir is alive and well. Also, this is not part of Frodo's journal.)

"Then it is settled. We shall send a delegation to Gondor. Meriadoc, Peregrin, you are strictly forbidden to join any expeditions. You will remain in Gondor until your liege calls for you." Elrond spoke sternly.

"Oi! You are having another council without your Sam again, Mr. Frodo." Sam came rushing in. "Elrond, you must permit me to join my master."

"But of course. And once again, you miss out the secret council but still manage to over hear." Elrond looked quite amused "Dismissed." He nodded curtly.

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A/N- How was that? I combined a few so you don't have to wait that much.


	4. Morgoths Arm Grows Long

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October 10, 1422

Chapter 5****

"Ahem." Elrond cleared his throat, then decided it was better to listen.

"What are you-"

"**Ahem!!!**"

"Why should I listen to you?"

"It was _my_ idea I shouldbe able to tell Elrond"

"Yea, but I spotted it"

"Who cares about you? I should-"

"**_AHEM_**!" Elrond tried again, more pointedly. "As I was trying to say," at this he threw a disgusted look at some of the more devious elves in the corner, "if you have got anything worth hearing the council would enjoy knowing it." In addition, Cirdan sent an evil eye at the sniveling elves that even the most stouthearted dwarf would quake in his boots.

"Well, you see, master Elrond, uh, sir, uh, we, uh, saw, uh, uh, uh-" the elf promptly dropped his notes and started stammering.

"Oh, rubbish," scoffed his colleague, "let _me_ tell him." The other elf snatched up the notes. "Ahem. As I was saying-" and at this the younger elves started snickering.

"Wha-at?" whined the elf that was speaking.

"Hee, hee, hoot, ha, snort," the gang of elves with the exception of two (I think they were brother and sister) were rolling with laughter.

"You should hear yourself," said one of them, beating his fist on the ground and doubling over in laughter. "You sound so much like master Elrond it isn't even funny."

"SILENCE!!!! YOU ARE A DISGRACE TO THE NAME OF ELVES!!!!!!!!!!!!" Elrond roared, spit flying out of his mouth and seething with anger. "GO ON WITH IT!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Everyone jumped.

"Well, last night at the dock, my friends" the girl elf picked up the notes that her companion had dropped and read off with scorn, "we saw this thingymajiggy with those whatchamacallits- Radf, what is this nonsense?" she pointed an accusing finger at the one who stammered.

"So-rry, Aihea who thinks she's the ruler of the world. I meant to change it. That's why I was stammering," he went to the corner and started sulking.

Aihea looked at the other elves with disdain and turned up her nose, "Brother, would you like to continue?"

The solemn looking one with the flaming hair to rival his sister's took the notes. "Master Elrond, we want you to know that last night after twilight we were on the docks."

"YOU WHAT? Have you no brains, boy? How many times have I told you children to stay off the docks after twilight?" Elrond jumped up.

"I'm, s-s-sorry, sir, it was a club meeting." The little boy (I found out later that he was about 73 years old) started to cry.

Elrond surrendered. "Children," he muttered and stared at his feet.

"Anyway, we saw these weird loping figures and we squinted and squirmed against the shadows. And then… EEEEEEEEEEEEK! We heard this neck chilling inhuman scream." Aihea demonstrated, causing every wizard, man, woman, elf, hobbit and dwarf to plug his or her ears.

"We saw these hideous aberrations," clearly, Aihea was pleased with her vocabulary. She folded her hands behind her back, "and inching closer, we discovered that they were… ORCS!" she screamed.

"Ya, and boy were they UGLY!" chorused the other elves, nudging each other and cracking up. It was obvious that they rehearsed that part.

Elrond's face grew longer by word. It was literally dangling on the floor. "This causes for emergency. The plot thickens…"

According to Elrond, the delegation would depart as soon as necessary. Apparently it was sooner than I thought, though.

A/N- The council ends……DUN DUN DUN (dramatic music) God. I don't know what happened here, I wrote this story so long ago. I'm sorry if the title doesn't fit…


	5. Kicked Out

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October 11, 1422

Chapter 6

"Mr. Frodo, sir." Haldir approached me. "Elrond is in need of your dire attendance immediately."

"NOW?" I asked incredulously. "It's the crack of dawn. What can the old elf want?"

"Come now, Frodo," Haldir smiled, "you ought to know master Elrond well enough by now. By the look on his face, everything." Haldir pointed behind me.

"Good morning, Frodo. I hope you slept well?" he questioned, "because I fear for the worst of today," he sighed, "it is not a pleasant task, Frodo, to be the Lord of the Elves. Many of them come to you for your advice."

"Ah, my lord. I once told Gildor, _go not to the elves for council, for they will say both yea and nay._" I replied, with as much dignity as my hobbit frame could muster.

"Wise words said by a wise soul." Elrond crinkled a smile. "But, alas, that cannot change the tradition." He sighed, and strolled to the balcony. "When I was a mere lad, my father, Earendil the Mariner once told me that to choose between mortal and elf would be a difficult decision. Alas, I am wistful for the mortal life of no burdens of old."

"Master Elrond, I beg to differ. I too have made the judgement to pass in milady's place. But it pains me, that we have the power to stop a new Dark Age, but we cannot journey back to Middle Earth. Alas, Elrond I am not wholly cured. My wound still pains me." I pointed at my shoulder.

"That is the real reason why I have summoned you here. For over night certain elves… _cough cough_ decided to, uh, hold a delegation, _hack cough_, to-"

"Handkerchief?" I produced one from my pocket, "Sir, if I may ask, I thought elves were unaccustomed to illnesses and malady."

"Why, thank you. And you are indeed right. Elves do not have sicknesses, but I ah, shouldn't mention ah, the certain, ah never mind. As I was saying, a delegation met late last night and despite our complaints, the other elves of the Undying Lands have come to a decision. You must leave here at once. Morgoth has sent his minions to attack the West Havens. You heard what the children said. He is trying to enter the Lands"

I was flabbergasted. Speechless. Frozen in time like a fly preserved in amber.

"I-I, beg your pardon, milord." I stammered.

"You heard me!" Elrond thundered. "YOU MUST LEAVE THE UNDYING LANDS IMMEDIATELY."

Softening a little at my look of horror, Elrond said gently, "I'm sorry, Frodo dear lad, but the other elves cannot be persuaded. You know that being here is a danger to all the Eldar. I may be the head councilor, but I cannot make the others see what is right before their eyes."

"B-b-but, what about Galadriel? Celeborn? Gildor? Haldir? Arwen? Aragorn? Gandalf? ANYBODY?" my voice grew shriller by the word.

"Frodo, you know Galadriel. She wheedled, threatened, begged, pleaded, bribed, blackmailed, lied, accused, and all her usual tactics. But the other elves stood firm. As for Aragorn, he is a Man. All elves have a natural distrust for Men, those of Numenorean descent and even the heir of Elendil himself. Gandalf is weary of his labors, and even the head of the Istari will have difficulty with a bunch of firm elves." Elrond sighed once more.

"I understand," I spoke comprehensively enough to barely be heard, "I know of the dangers that will occur if I remain here."

"Hmm," Elrond nodded approvingly "it seems as if I am not talking to the wayward hobbit lad you once were but to an elder that could rival my own age."

"You flatter me," I smiled just a wee bit "my life span isn't even close to opposing Legolas's, and you be thrice his age."

"That's a good lad. Go and pack. I will meet you back here in an hour."

Frenzied, I rushed to my bedchamber and snatched up my objects of worth. I threw in my mithril-coat haphazardly with the Red Book, Sting, and a drop of gold into my satchel. I picked it up and lurched out of the door onto an awaiting ship.

A/N- HALDIR LIVES!!!!!!!!


	6. Desolation In Middle Earth

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October 12, 1422

Chapter 7

"What in Middle Earth happened here?" Pippin sidled off the dock and stared agape at the total desolation of the West Havens.

"Yeah, what happened to the ships?" chimed in Merry.

"You are witnessing the arm of Morgoth. His minions leave nothing in their wake."

"Gandalf, you are speaking in riddles again." I said crossly. Hobbits aren't the most cheerful beings when jolted out of sleep.

Startled out of his sleep, Bilbo added, "Yes, old chap. What with the ruins here, I agree that we may come to the conclusion that Morgoth was here." Looking quite satisfied, Bilbo nodded off.

Glancing at him with envy and amusement, Aragorn spoke "Gandalf, you know I value your opinions. Where shall we be off?"

"Why, the Shire, of course," Gandalf looked surprised, and nearly tore off a bit of his beard when his head jerked up.

"Nay, Gondor first." Galadriel argued.

"Shire"

"Gondor"

"Shire"  
"Gondor"

"Shire"

"Gondor"

"Would you two CUT IT OUT?" Celeborn seemed quite irritated, looking not unlike a fisherman whose fish keeps flailing around, slapping him in the face.

"No." they both replied, then looked revolted at the fact that they agreed with each other.

"Well, go argue in the corner. I weary of this debate." Arwen waved an impatient hand. "_SOME_ people are mature enough to handle what I will say."

"Sorry." Both Gandalf and Galadriel looked rather sheepish.

"Righted by my granddaughter." Galadriel muttered. "Children these days are no longer respective of their elders."

"Well, I vote Shire." Merry spoke up. "I shan't be unhappy to see the Green Dragon once more."

"Humph. Well, have it your way." Suddenly, her eyes rolled. "THE ONE RING IS MINE! INSTEAD OF A DARK LORD YOU SHALL HAVE A DARK QUEEN TERRIBLE AND GREAT. ALL SHALL LOVE ME AND DESPAIR!!!!!!!"

'What?" she looked bewildered. "What's wrong?" now alarmed, she shrieked, "WHAT DID I SAY?"

"Calm down," Arwen laid a soothing arm on her grandmother. "It's nothing to be worried about. You just need rest."

Galadriel looked suspiciously at Arwen. "Celebrian's daughter, somehow I don't think you are telling me the truth.

"Don't you think the time is late? Oh, my" Arwen hurried her grandmother onto a horse. "We'd better get going," she pulled herself onto another horse and led it on.

"Queen Undomiel, wait up!" Merry and Pippin set their horses into a gallop mode.

"Wait for us!" King Elessar (alias, Strider, Aragorn, Estel, Dunedan, etc.)

"Yea, yea. And leave me behind," groaning and grumbling, I heaved myself onto a pony.

"What about me!!!!!!!!?????" I hollered, kicking up into a gallop. "I'm the point of this voyage!!!!"

"Hello, Butterbur. A pint of ale for four, and a mulled mead for two," Gandalf heaved himself onto a stool in The Prancing Pony.

"Gandalf! And, bless me, Strider too. Him with a gold crown and all."

Cirdan snorted, "So that's how Breelanders treat all royalty?"

In the background, Pippin and Merry sniggered.

"Anything for the Lady and the Lord?" Butterbur asked, bending over for the ale.

"Nay, nothing for us."

"Gandalf, do not you think we should depart soon?" I asked, anxious to get going.

"Frodo, dear lad. Worry not. We shall take leave as soon as possible."

"Hi, Nob, you lazy slowcoach!" Butterbur hollered through the window, overhearing our conversation. "Will you not put the ponies up for the night?"

Gandalf drained the rest of his mead, and said, "Good old Barley, get us some rooms, will you not?"

**October 13, 1422**

**Chapter 8**

In the afternoon, we finally departed as Gandalf waved and cried, "May your beer be enchanted for the best for the next score or so years!" and with that, he galloped off, with Pippin, Sam, Merry, and I trying vainly to surpass Shadowfax's speed. The rest of the company didn't even try to exceed the great stallion. That horse traveled with such fleetness of foot it would be unbelievable for any other creature.

We slowed down to a trot. I looked around, yet spot the Buckland Gate, I could not. As a matter of fact, spot anything I could not. That was until -

"Hoo, boy," Pippin gave a low whistle.

I couldn't blame him. I had finally spotted something, and let me tell you, it **_definitely_** would not have won any award for cleanliness. The Shire was boarded up; nails ancient with rust creaked and disintegrated as Aragorn touched the gate. Antique bones could have been stronger.

"King Elessar and Queen Evenstar have arrived! Where are your manners, fellow hobbits?" Merry bellowed loudly enough to probably jolt even Bilbo out of his sleep. And to top it off he burst a few rounds on his horn.

"Someone put us up for the night!" Pippin roared. "Hurry up, get going!"

"Mr. Pippin, is that you?" a meek voice spoke up.

"Why I don't believe it!" Pippin exclaimed. "Fatty, what happened?"

"Let me take you in for the night, and I'll explain tomorrow."

****

October 14, 1422

Chapter 9

"Fatty, what happened here?" Merry yawned and clambered off his ramshackle miserable excuse for a bed.

"Is it Saruman's doing?" Pippin's muffled voice came from underneath moth eaten pillows.

"Nay, Saruman 'tis gone, remember?" Sam argued.

"Sam? Is that you?"

"Why Mister Cotton!"

"How's my Rosie doing?" Farmer Tom Cotton asked.

"Just peachy. She'll be returning soon with Elanor." Sam replied.

"Sam, come here."

"Gaffer!"

"WHO? I AM SORRY, hic, BUT MY HEARING hic IS NOT WHAT IT hic USED TO BE hic!"

"Gaffer, it's me, your Sam."

"SAM? SAM WHO? OHHH, THAT SAM! COME GIVE YOUR OLD GAFFER A HUG," the Gaffer grabbed Pippin and nearly strangled him.

"Uh, Gaffer? _I'm Sam._ Not him." Sam hollered, stabbing a pudgy finger at his chest.

"Oh? Sorry Master Pippin."

"That's all right, Gaffer." Pippin massaged his bruised neck and waist.

"NOW LET'S TRY THAT AGAIN! SAM, COME GIVE YOUR OLD GAFFER A HUG!" this time, however, he grabbed Gandalf.

"Ham Gamgee, old chap. GET OFF OF ME!!!!" Gandalf roared, blowing out the few candles.

"Oh, Master Gandalf? I'm terribly sorry for my Gaffer's inconvenience. His sight is not what it used to be." Sam spoke quietly, a sudden contrast to his gaffer's.

"SAM! THERE YOU ARE!" the Gaffer hurled himself onto Sam. I think I might have heard some bones crunching.

"Gag, G-g-gaffer. It is please-gag-ent to see you again," Sam started choking.

"Now, see, here, Gamgee." Bilbo startled himself out of sleep. "Leave Master Sam alone. He's managed to get Frodo out of quite a few messes."

"MISTER FRODO!" the Gaffer exclaimed once more.

"Eh, hello, Gaffer." I edged carefully to the door, nearly plowing over-

"Why if it isn't Nibs!" Sam burst out, "Wait, where is everyone else?"

"Off to queer outlandish Buckland. The Tyrant scared 'em all off." Nibs replied.

"Tyrant? Tyrant who?" I looked as confused as possible.

"Why, Tyrant who rebuilt Mordor," Nibs was utterly flummoxed.

"Ohhhhh, that tyrant. You mean Mor-"

"Mr. Frodo, are you mad?" Nibs exclaimed, "Never mention that name," and to emphasize his point, a firm hand clamped on my mouth.

"Hmph, I humphnt mhmph thmpho mhemphtion hmphis nhmphame." I muttered unintelligibly.

"Sorry, didn't quite catch that," Gandalf responded mildly.

"Harumph. What I meant to say until _somebody_," at this I cast a meaningful glance at Nibs, "is that I didn't mean to mention his name."

Nibs turned a ripe tomato color and immediately started stammering.

"Oh, rubbish," scoffed Queen Undomiel, aiming a misjudged swing at Nibs. "How does it concern his affair whether we repeat his name or not?

"Because he will come and wreak havoc on our beautiful paradise, that's why," Nibs ducked the Queen's swing and jumped onto a haystack. "Besides, why should we say his name?"

"Out of all the pin headed ninnies, Nibs, you are the worst," declared Merry said, shaking the haystack. "Do you know who you're talking to?"

"Queen Arwen Evenstar," Nibs replied smugly.

"Also, if you call this junk pile a paradise, I hate to see a place of inferno," Pippin snorted, aiming a pitchfork at Nib's chest, "We didn't even pass the Green Dragon in Bywater. Mr. Gamgee, I thought you practically lived there."

"Yes, or so I says to myself. Just that- that- abnormally scummy dolt tore it down."

"Do you mean Morgoth?"

"Who else?"

"Hi, Gaffer, you're not yelling," Sam looked at him oddly.

"Oh, yes, sorry. It's quite a bother talking so loudly. I CAN'T HEAR DESPITE HOW IT SEEMS!!!!" he hollered, vanishing everyone's doubt, although a little shadow of distrust cornered my mind. The gaffer seemed oddly altered. How, I don't know. But quite frankly, it was rather disappointing, not to mention rather surprising. I was used to the gaffer being, well, more eccentric.

A/N- OH NO! I am approaching the end. Soon I will have to write!!!!! R&R I'M BEGGING YOU!!!! Note-this author suffers from SLORS (severe lack of reviews syndrome.)


	7. Bilbo Almost Injures Himself And All Ara...

****

October 14, 1422

Chapter 10

"We have gathered ere the _Pay Up Date_ so that a conclusion can be reached." Tom Cotton cleared his throat

"Pay up date?"

"Really?"

"Yes."

"So _that's_ where all our food went."

"Huh, I was wondering too."

"Mommy, what's a pay up date?"

"Hush, Esmeralda, it's nothing." there was a general mutter of confusion until Galadriel cleared her throat.

"AHEM. Hence the name, 'pay up date' Morgoth has started collecting fees for 'fair distribution' which means 'turn in everything you got'."

"Ohhhhhhh," some of the older gaffers and gammers nodded knowingly.

"Well I'll be," Jolly and Nick exclaimed.

( Look up the Gamgee family tree in Appendix C in The Return of the King. You will find Jolly & Nick with Tom, Nibs, and Rosie.)

"I thought our harvest was just plain bad."

"It was, but them evil people collected it anyhow," an old gaffer yelled from the back.

"Alas, I am afeared that we have arrived too late," Aragorn sighed. "Though it seems that I should have figured that. Bree's ale was not up to standards."

"WE'RE IN THE MIDDLE OF A CRISIS AND ALL YOU CARE ABOUT IS **ALE**????????" the gaffer hollered on the top of his lungs. "BY THE WAY, GOOD PIPPIN PLEASE PASS ME THE BEER ON THE COUNTER."

Every one snorted, Aragorn included.

That seemed more gafferish, or so I should think, but to deem a conclusion too early wouldn't pay.

"Well, I wouldn't mind some ale myself." Pippin spoke earnestly.

"Oh, dash it all. Hang the ale," Arwen waved an imperial hand. "Our number one priority is to find out where Morgoth's stronghold is."

"I thought he resided in Mordor on the edge of Lorien," Gimli spoke gruffly.

"That nasty dirty rotten thing in-in- MY forest?" Celeborn was aghast.

"Celeborn, you do remember that we overthrew the creatures there," Galadriel noted with amusement.

"Even so, you are always welcome at Mirkwood," Legolas bowed.

"By the way, Legolas. How is Thranduil?" Gandalf asked. "The old chap should depart here soon."

"Well, I think that he might be departing soon enough. These are dark days, yea they are," Legolas grew silent and started brooding.

"Good, good." Cirdan clapped his hands. "Let us wrap it up, shall we, Gandalf?"

"With pleasure."

"Excuse me, my good Gandalf, but the sun is setting, and not for naught is it unwise to travel after sundown."

"Ahh, Frodo. Never misses a beat, that one," Gandalf looked at me fondly.

"Before we is all going on about journey, I think it's high past suppertime."

"Quite right," Pippin nodded approvingly at Sam. "After all, I missed my elevensies."

"You did no such thing. You ate so much at second breakfast, that it shan't matter that you skipped elevensies," Merry rolled his eyes so far that they were in danger of disappearing through the backside of his head.

"I couldn't help it. I _like_ crumpets."

"True, but you also took five helpings of bread and butter."

"Nay, I only took four."

"Big difference."

"There is."

"Quite on the contrary, my good Peregrin, you took _seven_ helpings of bread and butter, six helpings of crumpets, a whole week's worth of cream, and so much strawberry jam and pancakes that I lost track."

"Is that all you did? Watch me eat my second breakfast?" Pippin's eyes popped out like tenpin balls.

Legolas shrugged. "Well, I got the desired result, which would be, very full, just watching you eat."

"Elves these days, don't know how to properly appreciate a second breakfast."

"Nay, we Elves do not eat second breakfast. We settle for one."

"Don't forget about the barrel of beer he took for breakfast!" Gimli joined the row.

"I give up. There are too many of you," Pippin threw up his hands in exasperation.

"Sigh, when will you children ever learn," Legolas shook his head.

"Now, now, Legolas, child. Don't chide until you're my age. _Then_ you can say 'sigh, when will you children ever learn,'" Galadriel teased gently. "After all, you're only 2,497 years old."

"Humph. Grandmother, you yourself are only 5,234," Arwen laughed.

"And you're only 3,089, Undomiel dearest," Aragorn smiled.

"Ah, well. You're only 88, I think, Aragorn, so don't you mock me!" Arwen stuck out a delicate tongue.

"Nearly 89. March 1st, remember?" Aragorn replied.

"Why me?" Pippin moaned.

"Why you what?" I asked, curious.

"Why must I be the one with the stomach ache?" Pippin wailed.

"Well, Pippin, you _were_ the one who ate two breakfasts, whilst for everyone else one would suffice," Bilbo snorted behind his hands.

"CHILDREN!" Gandalf barked. "We ought to get going, you know," he chided, though it was obvious that he was amused. "Darkness will hide our appearances."

**Later October 14, 1422**

Chapter 11

Well, now, there's a shock. Old Gandalf stopped debating. As a matter of fact, since we set off, he and Galadriel haven't argued yet. Well, as Queen Undomiel would say, "Sometime they would have to mature," although Gandalf isn't really a bad sort of chap. Galadriel herself is a pleasant lady, if not a wee bit vague. It must come from living all these years. Then again, maybe not. I heard that Galadriel is related to Fëanor. Half sister, I believe? Not to mention she is one of the Eldar.

Author's note- see The Silmarillion also by J.R.R. Tolkien

Hmmm, I wonder if she is acquainted with the Valar? Most likely not, I suppose.

After all, it takes more than that to be acquainted with the Valar. It is true that she is one of the Eldar, sent here by the Valar, but to be granted the presence of the Valar themselves is highly improbable.

"Frodo lad, let me see what you're writing," we had stopped riding for the moment (Pippin ran out of breath.) Bilbo reached over and took my pen and diary.

"Ahhhhhh. Ooh, tut tut," he perused my diary carefully. He tutted some more and bit the nub of the pen. Then, dipping it into an inkwell, he began to write.

"Our journey—old, eight days," I strained on my toes to see what he was writing.

Bilbo looked at me, seized my arm and said, "Now lad, wait till I'm done and copy this down into your book."

"Yes, uncle Bilbo."

"Hum de dum de deeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!" Bilbo hummed happily as he scribbled in my diary.

While he was writing, I glimpsed the word "weary" as I peeked over his shoulder. I seized the book.

"Oy there, Uncle Bilbo, don't strain yourself." I says. ." What are you writing about, anyway?"

But I never got my answer. He took back the book. "Come now, Uncle. What is it you are writing that you won't let me see?"

My answer was silence.

The only way I will receive information is by taking the diary. The words I read shock me. " 'Tis him, my Frodo, he makes me weary."

Bilbo eyed me and grabbed back the diary.

"But Uncle, what do you mean, I make you weary?" Frankly, I was puzzled. "I have not been over taxing you, have I?" Forget puzzled, I was anxious.

"I have completed my entry, laddie," Uncle Bilbo hands me back my diary with the air of one who heard nothing of what I said. I flipped it open and went back to the page where he was writing.

(In Bilbo's script)

Today we have journeyed far and wide. I, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire am weary. My journeying days grow short. My nephew, Frodo, the one writing this lovely book is seeming concerned about me. Thus he snatches my book—"Oy there, Uncle Bilbo, don't strain yourself. What are you writing about, anyway?" But I manage to take the book back before he discovers my potent information. "Come now, Uncle. What is it you are writing that you won't let me see? I shall see it anyway in the end." Alas, alas, the poor wee lad. He is still a child at heart, the one I remember of the Shire. He does not see that it is now journeying that makes me tired, nor even Morgoth. 'Tis him, my Frodo, he makes me weary. "But Uncle, what do you mean, I make you weary? I have not been over taxing you, have I?" he says, after reading this. I see him peering at me, afraid that his poor, frail uncle might collapse suddenly. HA! That proves that Frodo, lad, you still have a lot to learn.

"A lot to learn?" NOW _I_ was puzzled.

"OI THERE! BILBO! FRODO! ARE YOU ALIVE!" Pippin hollered at us. I was brought back to reality with a jolt.

Aragorn came back. "Frodo, Bilbo, are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Dunadain. Perfectly fine," and despite my protests, he shoves away my arm and hobbles off to his horse.

Aragorn and I exchanged significant looks.

Bilbo glared at us impatiently. "All right, you. Just because I'm old certainly doesn't mean I'm senile. I know you're planning something. You're my nephew. He's an old friend. Don't think I can't guess your thoughts," he shook a finger at us.

Aragorn laughed and laughed and laughed.

"What's so funny?" Bilbo demanded, with his hands akimbo.

Aragorn just laughed. This time, I joined in. Bilbo really did look comical when he lectured.

"WELL?" Bilbo asked again. Aragorn just pointed at Bilbo and laughed.

"Now I think you're senile, you old fool," Bilbo shook his head wearily, pointing his finger at Aragorn.

"Right you are, Bilbo. I think he IS becoming senile in his old age." Queen Undomiel came over to see what the hold up was. Aragorn rolled his eyes. She laughed. "But we who are already old are unaffected, eh?" she said, with a slight wink at Bilbo.

"Exactly!" Bilbo beamed at her. "Now if you'll excuse me I have some work to do." And he tottered over to his horse and heaved himself up to his saddle. "We're off!" he shouted and brandished his sword. "We're off—whoa, there, pony."

Evidently the pony did not appreciate his rider brandishing a sword above its head. It shied, and Bilbo skinned his head against a tree branch. To make matters worse, his horse threw him and he landed against the tree trunk. Bilbo would have slid down, but his sword had been flung up into the air and hit his cloak as he slid off the trunk. "ARGH!!" Bilbo shrieked. He was stuck.

I couldn't help chuckling. This was exactly how Bilbo always wanted to end up, skewered to a tree by his own sword.

"IT'S NOT FUNNY!" Bilbo dangled on his cloak, still stuck to the trunk. Everyone else came back to watch the show.

"Uh-oh," Pippin said, pointing at Bilbo.

"Uh-oh what?" Cirdan, Legolas, Gandalf, Gimli, Galadriel, Celeborn, and Arwen asked.

"Uh-oh THAT!" Pippin, Merry, Sam, and I screeched. Bilbo's cloak was ripping.

Aragorn swore. "Bilbo, why must you constantly get into trouble?" he fumbled about for a cloak to catch Bilbo with.

Gandalf was more direct. He jumped up and lunged towards the tree, catching Bilbo just as he was about to plummet to his doom.

Everyone heaved a gigantic sigh, except for Aragorn. "DARN! WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS CLASP?"

A/N- This is where my story stopped. Uh oh. Better get cracking.


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